


near miss

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Keyleth tries for casual and misses by yards, Kinda, Kinda Auish, Vax is just trying to do his good deed for the day, Vaxleth - Freeform, a first meeting of sorts, just a quick little thing inspired by some A+ artwork, with a brief appearance from our favorite ranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large – I contain multitudes." -Walt Whitman(She has hair like a living flame and walks with a storm in her wake. She's also short on gold. Pre-canon.)





	near miss

Traveling, Keyleth is starting to realize, isn't really as fun as she thought it was going to be.

On the one hand, she's out and about with nature almost every waking hour—whether she's hiking through fields, navigating twisting forests, splashing through shallow streams. She's crossing paths with creatures she's never seen before, learning the wisdom of millennia-old trees, and she swears her headdress' antlers have grown an inch.

Okay, like, a half-inch. Maybe. Probably closer to a few centimeters at best but growth is growth alright?

She can transform into whatever she wants whenever she wants—a kind of Wild Shape freedom she indulges in frequently. She lives how she wants, sleeps wherever she pleases, and eats…well…

Keyleth's foraging skills are unmatched, but she's preparing to head into the desert for the next leg of her journey, and socially awkward she may be, she's not stupid.

And thus comes the _downside_ to traveling—markets.

Well, the people in the markets, specifically. The staring, the whispering behind hands, the words they think her half-Elven ears can't catch. She hates it. _Hates_ it. She wants to fit in _so badly_ but everything about her just seems to reject social norms and she only ends up embarrassing herself. Given the choice, she'd avoid them altogether and spend her days happily chatting with the local flora.

But dammit, she needs food.

So here she stands—Keyleth of the Air Ashari, future Headmaster of her people, a princess in her own right, the powers of the very elements at fingertips, a druid whose strength and magical potential could topple entire _worlds_ —waiting in line to buy some fruit.

It's not that she feels something like this is _below_ her—if anyone is likely to forget or disregard their status as _technically royalty_ , it's Keyleth—but rather she's uneasy at the attention. She feels exposed so far from the trees and grasslands. The sooner she gets in and out the happier she'll be.

The woman in front of her concludes her purchase, and Keyleth watches as she walks off with a handful of apples, passing one to her son. Keyleth smiles faintly at the sight before stepping up to the man's booth.

The shopkeep—a short, portly man with a pretty impressive beard—looks her over while she selects the apples she'd like to purchase. When she presents him with her chosen apples, he lifts an eyebrow.

"Twenty gold," he tells her.

Keyleth's eyes narrow. She _distinctly_ remembers seeing the woman in front of her pay with ten gold pieces and she _knows_ this because for one thing, she's got half-Elven eyes and for _another_ thing, she'd been _incredibly_ unsubtle when watching their exchange.

She sets her jaw, fixing the man with the sharpest look she can muster.

"Twenty gold?" she repeats, lifting an eyebrow. "Are you _sure?"_

She tries to spin her tone with a low, dangerous growl—she'll be the Voice of the Tempest someday, dammit—but it gets caught in her throat and the shopkeep watches as she coughs it off.

When she recovers, he's arching an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

"Twenty gold," he says again. "Twenty-five if ya keep wastin' my time."

Keyleth feels her chest puff up with anger, but she plunges her hand into her bag of funds anyway and gods she _hates_ haggling _so_ much—

"Will this cover it?"

Keyleth starts in surprise as a pair of gold coins appear out of nowhere in her line of vision, held between two starkly pale, slender fingers.

She steps back to take in the sight of a man—tall, pale, dressed all in black—staring directly at the shopkeep, one eyebrow quirked.

He's dangerous. Keyleth can see it in the way he holds himself—coiled like a snake, ready to lash out at any moment, muscles wound tight like an alley cat—but his expression is neutral, save for a slight twist of dark amusement that would make her a little wary, were she on the receiving end of it.

The shopkeep, oddly, does not share her sentiments.

"Do ya speak Common, boy?" the shopkeep demands. "I said twenty. Twenty-eight now, thanks to you."

Keyleth rolls her eyes, preparing to shoot the man a glare for his _help,_ when she sees something flicker brightly in his hands—

The man's pulled a dagger from _somewhere—_ no really, Keyleth was staring right at him where did that dagger come from—and twirls it neatly between the fingers of his free hand, the gleam of its edge catching the light and making it flash like starlight.

"Are you _sure?"_ he says, and Keyleth almost interrupts him to point out she's already tried that _exact_ line, but she's suddenly preoccupied when the shopkeep dumps a whole handful of apples into her arms before vanishing back inside his tent.

Keyleth blinks in surprise as she tries to get a handle on all the fruit, frowning after the shopkeep.

"Um…thank you?" she calls uncertainly, laying down her ten gold and dumping the apples into her satchel.

She hears a quiet chuckle beside her, and glances up to see the man setting down his additional two gold. His dagger is gone, as is the rest of the line that had been waiting behind her.

Keyleth frowns, biting her lip, guilt gnawing at her thoughts—

"They'll find business elsewhere," the man's voice has lost its previous coarseness, and instead he speaks with a low softness with a whisper of darkness. He sounds like shadows, she muses. "He'd only rip them off anyway."

For a moment she just stares at him, marveling at the change of his voice. He's taller than she is—which is somewhat impressive in and of itself—but seems to almost fold in on himself. Like at any moment he could disappear inside the darkness of the cloak that hangs from his shoulders. She skims his form, taking in his armor, his gloves, his belt, trying to play it off as a casual inspection and not like she's desperately searching for where he keeps his knives.

He coughs, somewhat pointedly, and Keyleth's eyes snap to his face.

"Oh! Uh…" she begins, silver-tongued as always. She flushes at her own hesitation, scrambling to fill the silence. _"Thank you._ Thank you, Mister…?" she trails off again—eyes suddenly flipping wide—like the fact that she hadn't learned his name in the ten seconds of time and space they'd shared appalled her.

"Vax." The name is supplied without inflection or feeling—a fact, just like any other, not worth a second thought. His lips twitch then, only a little. _"Just_ Vax."

"Vax," she repeats, tasting the name. She shifts her weight, tilting her head as she rolls the single syllable around on her tongue. "Vax." It's sharp and quick—a darting blow. Gone as soon as it's spoken, yet it seems to linger in her jaw. "Va—"

"You had it the first time," he tells her, and she snaps to attention to see he—the man, Vax—is staring at her with a look of moderate discomfort and slightly-more-than-moderate confusion.

Keyleth's blush surges back. She gets that look a lot.

"Sorry," she rushes out, pulling her furred cloak tighter where it'd fallen down, exposing her dark, sun-kissed shoulders. She bites her lip, sinking into the garment's familiar softness, idly wishing it'd swallow her. "It's a nice name."

She knows the words are wrong as soon as they're out of her mouth—it's a familiar sensation, at this point—and while she can summon thunderstorms and shake the very earth, she can't reclaim anything she's already said, so she's stuck with the fallout of her latest social misstep.

Keyleth watches his face twist with new confusion, her own expression pained as she lowers herself further into the cloak. Maybe he'll just walk away. That'd be ideal.

But he just gives her a hard look—not unkind, but she's definitely received worse—and Keyleth takes a moment to note the way his dark hair stands out so starkly against his pale skin, and she's about to open her mouth to comment on it even though her brain is yelling at her to _shut up shut up stop talking—_

A commotion, suddenly—a crash across the market that claims both of their gazes immediately.

Keyleth turns, one hand already ghosting towards her staff as she searches for the source of the noise, part of her distracted by the feel of Vax's dark eyes on her, a look of quiet surprise on his face.

"You're Elven," he says, a note of curiosity in his voice.

Keyleth glances back at him, dully realizing her hair must have covered her ears.

"Half," she corrects, wondering why he'd care about something like that when a high shriek of pain rings out—

Keyleth curses, already moving towards the sound with more grace than any earthly being should be allowed, cloak falling from her shoulders as she charges forward, like a storm cloud in her wake, hair swinging out behind her like a living flame.

"What's going on?" she demands, bursting onto the scene with the fury of a firestorm and a tremendous lack of tact.

It's easy to see the problem, though. The woman—the very same one from before—is squirming in the hold of a rail-thin man cloaked in a dusty, stained garment. Keyleth spares a moment to try and find the boy and sees him on the ground, apple in the dirt beside him as he stares up at the man with fearful eyes.

Two flashes of light catch her eye, and Keyleth's gaze snaps to them both in quick succession—a bag of gold on the ground, near the man's worn boots, and a knife he holds aloft.

Anger surges through the druid's bones—a fight brewing in her blood.

The knife is tarnished and crude—not like the spun silver Vax had pulled—and Keyleth takes another step, milking her six feet for all its worth and more as she looms over him.

"Give her back her money," she orders, voice bitterly cold in the heat of the day. "And let her go."

For a moment, it looks like he's going to wisely listen. Then his expression hardens—lips pulling back in a sneer—and he turns the blade towards her.

_Oh._

As someone who makes a lot of bad choices—and makes them with real commitment, mind—Keyleth has to appreciate the lunacy this man has just suggested.

A simple thief against the future Headmaster of the Air Ashari. How _could_ this possibly end?

A storm sizzles and snaps at her fingertips—bolts of lighting beg to be let loose at the crack of her knuckles. She can feel her Wild Shapes shifting under her skin, clawing at her bones, howling to be let free so she can teach him a lesson in respect and decency. Let's see him point a blade at a giant _bear_ or a godsdamned _Fire Elemental._

She stares the man down, distantly realizing her temper is whipping up a windstorm in her wake. She can hear the whimpers of fear from the boy, who clutches his mother tightly as the wind starts to howl. The thief's eyes have gone wide, and she watches as he tries to scrabble back across the ground, away from her, realizing his mistake—

She looses a breath through locked teeth, willing the tension to drain from her body.

 _Be kind,_ the old trees always tell her. _Anger and hate and righteous fury—these are things you will live to regret. Be_ _ **kind**_ _. No one will ever look back on their life and wish they had been crueler, or more brash. Kindness, Princess. Always._

Another breath leaves her body, and her shoulders—taut as bowstrings, shoulder blades standing out like knives—relax, and slump down.

"Go," she tells him, and the hot anger is gone from her voice, her eyes dim. When he doesn't move, she glares, pointing a brown finger towards the market's exit. "Did you hear me? I said _go!"_

The ground shakes—rumbles and roars in response to the Tempest's Voice and the thief's already pale face grows paler still as he scrambles to his feet and takes off running.

Keyleth watches him for a moment, expression still dark with dislike, before she sighs and bends down to collect the woman's purse.

"Here," she murmurs, using the gentle tone she reserves for late-blooming flowers and people she's frightened. The woman just stares at her in wonder for a moment, and all Keyleth can do is offer her an awkward half-smile.

"Thank you," she whispers, voice hoarse and shaking, and snatches the coin purse before gathering her son up in her arms and hastening away in the other direction.

Keyleth sighs again, using her staff to help push herself back up. She suddenly feels exhausted. People wear her out more than her powers ever could. It's frustrating and stupid, and Keyleth's prepared to go mope in some meadow for a few hours as she turns to leave—

"You dropped this."

Keyleth nearly jumps out of her _skin_ —almost startled into dropping her human shape and going Minxie—as she whirls around.

It's Vax. Naturally. He's standing there like there's nowhere else in the world he needs to be, calmly offering her back her dropped cloak.

Her eyes trace his face, briefly searching for _something_ —a hint of a smile, a flash of disapproval, a trace of fear—but it's just Vax.

With a sigh of resignation—she just wants to go talk to some plants, dammit—she reaches out to reclaim it.

"Thanks," she tells him, throwing it back over her shoulders. The wind kicks up a little, giving the action a small flourish, and Keyleth smirks up at the sky before looking back to Vax, who is watching her carefully.

"I'm Keyleth," she tells him, willing herself to hold his gaze. He has the darkest eyes she's ever seen—pitch like the sky at twilight's death, or a raven's wing. A beat of absolute silence passes before Keyleth suddenly thrusts her hand forward.

Vax starts lightly at her unexpected action—honestly she hadn't seen it coming either it'd just kind of happened—and she sees deathly pale fingers dart towards the folds of his cloak before he realizes she's just very aggressively seeking a handshake.

"Ah," he replies, and after the briefest of pauses, he reaches forward to close his hand around hers.

Keyleth nearly jerks her hand free— _whose hands are that_ _ **cold**_ _Seven Hells they're like_ _ **ice—**_ but resists, lifting her chin and basking in the warmth of the sun as she gives his hand a sturdy shake.

"Keyleth, you said?" he asks, peering at her. He seems like he's looking for something—searching for some kind of answer that's hidden in her eyes. She barely stops herself from blurting out her thoughts.

"Of the Air Ashari," she confirms with a nod.

She expects him to drop her hand and vanish without a word—their meeting complete, business concluded. Instead, he just fixes her with a slow kind of half-smile.

"I sort of noticed that, yeah," he tells her, and Keyleth feels herself blush again.

They're still holding hands. Keyleth forces herself not to look.

"I…sometimes my powers get away from me," she offers. "It's…I'm learning to be better. A better person, a better druid, a better leader…it's a journey I'm on."

She clamps her mouth shut— _why not just regale him with the entire history of the damn_ _ **Aramenté**_ _while you're at it, Kiki?—_ but Vax doesn't seem bothered. If anything, that lightly amused twitch playing at his lips has turned into a proper smile. Small, but there.

"How very noble," he replies, finally dropping her hand. Keyleth tries not to dwell on the fact that she suddenly misses the coldness of his touch. Probably just readjusting to her own warmth. Yeah, that's it.

They stand there for a moment, staring at each other—he has a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones she hadn't noticed before, how curious—before Vax quirks an eyebrow.

"Don't let me keep you," he says, waving a hand to gesture she should leave first. She sees it then—a flash of mischief strikes his eyes like lightning. "Keyleth of the Air Ashari."

Something about the way he says her name draws a smile out of Keyleth.

"Well, thanks for everything, Vax of…" she hesitates—had he told her anything more?

Vax smirks. "Just Vax," he reminds her.

She nods. "Right. Just Vax."

There's another pause, Keyleth opens her mouth to blurt out something she probably shouldn't—

_"_ _Vax'ildan!"_

Vax's humor vanishes, and Keyleth leans around him to see a woman who looks remarkably like Vax fast approaching.

She watches as Vax spins lightly on his heel, giving his back to Keyleth as he greets the woman with a smile that has a bit too many teeth.

"Hello, dear sister," he greets her, and Keyleth can hear the tension in his voice without her Elven heritage. "I believe I told you to _wait—"_

"And I believe I told _you_ that it will be a cold day in the Seven Hells when I let you _boss_ me around—" the woman argues back fiercely.

"Vex, for gods' sake I was only gone a _minute—"_

"Well, it was the longest damned minute _I've_ ever been apart of, I can tell you that—"

"Sorry, it was my fault!" Keyleth says hastily, stepping forward even though everything about this exchange cautions against getting involved. "I was sort of in a pinch."

The woman's eyes snap to hers—Keyleth notices they're just as startlingly dark as Vax's—and as her gaze plays over the druid, Keyleth gets the distinct sense she's being _inspected._

After a moment, apparently satisfied with whatever she's found—or at least not overly _dissatisfied—_ the woman gives Vax a hard sideways glare.

"Well, good to see my brother doing a bit of good will for once," she remarks archly, and Vax rolls his eyes.

"Just following your _saintly_ example, sister," he returns, and Keyleth can't help a giggle at their exchange.

The woman's eyes cut back to hers, and Keyleth can _feel_ her wandering gaze—like her pockets are being turned out, her satchel emptied, her cloak thoroughly frisked—all without the woman lifting a finger.

Then she smiles, and Keyleth smiles back, tentatively.

"You're quite the charming thing, aren't you?" she decides, and Keyleth flushes darkly, surprised at the comment. Vax shoots his sister a sharp look, but she just plays it off with a laugh.

"And you blush so easily, how adorable," she smiles again, and Keyleth finds herself looking to Vax for assistance—

He moves between the two, easily boxing his sister out as he steps closer to Keyleth, ignoring his sister's protests as he angles himself in a way that deftly blocks her view.

Keyleth can feel her heart hammer at their proximity, but Vax seems utterly unbothered.

"Ignore her," he suggests, and she watches with surprise as he pulls out a few pieces of gold—and no, really, where is he keeping all of this stuff?—and tries to offer it to her.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly," Keyleth says quickly, holding her hands up in refusal. "Really, I don't go to markets that often. Ever, if I can help it."

Something about this seems to amuse him, and he just shakes his head but pockets the gold anyway.

They're still a breath apart, and Keyleth peers up at him, wary and thrilled all at once.

"Take care of yourself then," he says, calmly looking down at her with those dark, dark eyes. The flash of mischief strikes again. "Try to keep away from shady merchants, yeah?"

Keyleth smiles, nodding her agreement, and Vax gifts her with a small smile of his own before turning back to face his sister, who is glaring at him with her arms crossed.

"Oh, are you finished?" she asks none to kindly, arching an eyebrow at her brother.

Vax flashes her a brilliant smile that's a little too sharp. "I thought rangers were suppose to be _patient,_ Vex'ahlia."

"And I thought _rouges_ were supposed to—" she shrieks with surprise as Vax suddenly seizes her in a headlock and ruffles her hair, upsetting the woman's neat braid and carefully fixed feathers.

"Come on, Stubby," he mutters fondly.

Keyleth watches as Vax pulls his sister out of the market, ignoring her shouts, cries, and threats to free her as he tosses one last look over his shoulder, tipping Keyleth a wink that makes her blush.

**Author's Note:**

>  _wow_ I actually wrote critical role oh boy the day finally came ~~and I picked everyone's _favorite_ pairing too boy fucking howdy~~
> 
> anyway, have a quick little thing I whipped up because I was so dang inspired by [@sketchingsparrow](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/)'s gorgeous piece which you should go stare at [here](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/post/157354838784/doing-some-style-experimenting-during-my-commute) because it's so lovely.
> 
> it's like an AUish first meeting? I don't really know. chalk it up to a character study I guess. I know Keyleth gets a lot of shit ~~for whatever fucking reason I'm still not really sure why~~ but the juxtaposition of her pretty much god-tier powers and her horrendous social interactions is probably my favorite thing about that show. that and Percy because _ho boy._ let me tell you about my thoughts on the disaster gun son.
> 
>  
> 
> _Like this piece? Here’s my billboard!_
> 
> **[MORE WRITING](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/works) **
> 
> **[MAIN/PERSONAL BLOG](http://reduxroyal.tumblr.com/) **
> 
> **[WRITING DUMP](http://dominodebt.tumblr.com/) **
> 
> **[TWITTER](https://twitter.com/reduxroyal) **
> 
> Hope you guys like it. Maybe I'll do more Critical Role stuff?


End file.
